Schism
by Miiko Ashida
Summary: Hillshire decides that, for once in his life, he's going to set an example. The consequences of his actions ripple through the rest of the SWA. Where should the lines of loyalty lie? HillshirexTriela
1. Prologue

Prologue

* * *

The train was utterly silent. Most of the other passengers were asleep, slouched against the windows or each other. Triela, however, was wide awake and watching every face with raw nerves, as if the elderly man down the aisle might suddenly leap up and draw a submachine gun on her.

Beside her sat Hillshire, his arms folded and his expression showing that his mind was somewhere else entirely. Every now and then, the motion of the train would cause their shoulders to bump, and he would move a little in the opposite direction. He was obviously exhausted. This may have been because it was three o'clock in the morning, but Triela knew better. He had been wearing down for weeks. She watched the circles under his eyes slowly grow, as he fought to be more and more vigilant of some threat she couldn't perceive and yet his eyelids drooped more and more with each days, his powerful shoulders slumping.

It unnerved her to see him so tired, but he had told her to be alert for any signs of trouble, so she had to cast the worry out of her mind and focus on their surroundings. Only a few miles were left to go until the next station. She could make it that far.

A man at the end of their compartment stretched, yawning slightly, and Triela's muscles jumped with adrenaline. She didn't know what she was looking for, or why, and that was what really put her ill at ease. Hillshire hadn't said anything before they left, simply that there was an urgent mission he couldn't discuss until they arrived at their destination, and she should pack for as much as a week, but nothing more than she could easily carry. Such brisk and vague instructions were foreign to the Hillshire she knew.

The train whistle shrilled, signaling the station up ahead, and Hillshire sat fully upright, putting a hand on Triela's arm. "Get your things ready. When we leave the train, keep your head down. Don't make eye contact with anyone, don't speak to anyone, and do not stop for anything. Just follow me. Understand?"

Though she frowned, Triela nodded. "Hillshire, do they know we're coming? Are they watching the train station?"

"Sh. Don't talk like that here." Hillshire glanced around cautiously. "Just follow me."

After a moment, "Of course, sir."

"...And don't call me 'sir'. It's 'Victor', until we're alone."

"All right."

Hillshire stood, and Triela pursed her lips. _I want to know what he's hiding from me. Keeping secrets about this mission is only going to make it more dangerous._

The doors opened. Hillshire hurried out of the train without a word, and Triela leapt up to follow him into the early morning darkness.


	2. Chapter 1: Exodus

Chapter 1: Exodus

* * *

Triela's experience with train stations, limited as it was, told her that the platform would be crowded and she would need to bludgeon her way with the large black suitcase in her right hand in order to keep up with Hillshire. Any fears she might have had of being washed away in a sea of humanity, however, were quashed when she stepped through the train's automatic doors. The platform was ghostly in the moonlight, home to only a cluster or two of miscreant teenagers. _Keep your head down and don't get noticed, indeed,_ she groused to herself. They seemed to be the only ones getting off the train. Not that there was anyone around to see, but how was that inconspicuous?

Ahead of her, Hillshire walked briskly but apparently calmly toward the left exit, where they exited onto a street that was more deserted than the platform had been. Triela tried to imitate his fluid strides, well aware that every inch of her skin was lit up with anxiety. She felt her body's reaction to the time of day, as well as a surge of nervousness every time a car honked in the distance. Ridiculous that a simple mission should wreck her concentration so badly, but this wasn't normal. She felt another surge of annoyance toward Hillshire for not telling her more when they were back in the safety of the Agency. Then again, this mission must be top-secret; he had forbidden her to tell any of the other girls about it.

Hillshire made an abrupt right down a side alley and Triela abandoned her train of thought, remembering the dangers of dark, narrow streets at night under the best of circumstances. _Why am I having such a hard time concentrating?_ she wondered, biting her lip.

As if he read her mind, Hillshire turned and said softly, "Focus, Triela."

"Sorry." She flushed hotly, glad for the dim light to hide her embarrassment. "How much farther, _Victor_?"

"Not very. A couple of blocks."

True to his word, Hillshire stopped in front of a seedy-looking hotel a few minutes later. Triela wondered just how deep undercover they were going; the Agency usually paid for much nicer places than this.

The man at the desk, a balding, middle-aged fellow, barely looked up while Hillshire paid for their room. Nevertheless, Triela did her best to turn her face away, standing as much behind Hillshire as she could. Finally the money changed hands, and Hillshire passed her a key with the number 17 on a fob attached to it. "This way, kiddo," he said in a casual tone. Triela nearly choked on her surprise. It was a nice touch - the guy at the desk would only remember a tired businessman traveling with his shy daughter - but she resented the down-talking nonetheless.

Their room was on the second floor, overlooking a trashy back alley. Everything inside seemed clean enough, though, so Triela flopped, with her suitcase, onto one of the beds practically the moment they entered the room. Hillshire set his things in the small alcove that served as a closet, and then sat next to her. Somehow, his weight pressing down on the mattress beside her made the whole situation seem calmer. This was out of the ordinary, yes, but they were still _fratello_. They'd do this mission and then go home to security and routine, and windows that weren't smeared with god-knows-what-sort of grime.

"Hillshire," Triela began, feeling a need for sleep seeping into her bones. The long night of nerves and travel had begun to catch up with her the moment her body was no loner vertical. "Now will you tell me what sort of mission this is? Why all the secrecy?"

"I'm sorry."

Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. "Forget it. I understand. It's not like you were keeping something personal."

Hillshire's face was backlit by the dim lights of the alley. He seemed no less far away now that they were in the privacy of a hotel room than he had been on the train. After a long moment of silence, he closed his eyes and said quietly, "This isn't a mission, Triela."

"...What?"

"We're not here on the Social Welfare Agency's orders. They don't even know we're gone. And, Triela...we aren't going back."

Triela sat up, then stood, facing him. She tried to process what he'd just said. "You don't know how to tell a joke," she said flatly. Hillshire gave her a wan smile.

"I wish I wasn't serious."

"This is incredibly stupid. Not to mention incredibly illegal." She narrowed her eyes. "Do you mind if I ask why?"

"It's not something I can really explain. I just don't feel that the Social Welfare Agency is in your best interests. The conditioning, the killing...it's no kind of life."

"So what, we're fugitives now?"

"More or less."

She frowned. "I'm sure you have a great plan and all, but that really doesn't seem like a very good idea."

Hillshire looked up at her with such a pained expression on his face that Triela felt the reality of the situation begin to sink in like ice water, starting at the very pit of her stomach and spreading. With an air of extreme caution, Hillshire reached out and touched her wrist. "What other choice did I have?"

"Maybe you could have chosen, I don't know, to keep your job and not run away with a few hundred grand's worth of Euros in government equipment, not to mention unutterable secrets. That would have been a better choice, from where I'm standing."

The man shook his head. "It has nothing to do with me. I owe you better than what you had with the Agency."

"You owe me some answers. For instance, how long do we have before they come after us?"

"A day, maybe two."

"Uh huh. You realize this is going to require one hell of a battle plan?"

Hillshire raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't curse. And yes, I do."

"Okay. ...Okay." Triela took a slow breath, realized his fingers were still resting on her wrist. "That's...a start. Battle plans can wait until the morning. Right now, what we need is sleep."

"You sleep. I'm going to keep watch."

"They don't even know we're gone yet, right? Besides, you look like hell." Triela smiled, slowly. "There's no way I'm sticking with you if I have to wake up to an unshaven, raccoon-eyed mug every day."

"...You have a deal." Hillshire's fingers curled around Triela's wrist gently. "I want you to know that I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Triela pulled her hand free. "Hey, now. Don't get all maudlin on me."

"You're right. I just need some sleep."

"Yeah." Triela turned down the bed covers and slipped between the sheets. Hillshire rose from the foot of the bed and, after a moment, pulled the covers up to Triela's chin and tucked them in around her. "Good night, Hillshire."

"Get some sleep. I'm not the only one who needs it."

"Hillshire?"

"...Yes?"

"You don't have to explain to me. I think I understand."

Hillshire turned off the bedside lamp without a word.


	3. Chapter 2: Before the Storm

Chapter 2: Before the Storm

* * *

When Triela finally woke up, it was past noon. Sunlight struggled through the grimy glass of the window to shine in her eyes. She sat up with a sneeze.

"Good morning to you, too," said Hillshire from the small coffee table that stood, with two rickety-looking chairs, across from the beds. Triela quickly realized that in daylight, the room was obviously a lot less passable than she had thought it was by the early morning lamplight. She stretched slowly, feeling the effects of a mattress she hadn't realized was so uncomfortable (by the time they'd come in last night, she might have been happy to sleep on the cobblestones outside). Her neck protested with a loud crack.

"So," she groaned, "did you have any prophetic dreams? Any indications the sea is going to part and let us set off on foot to darkest Africa and hide amongst the natives?"

"No. I picked up this morning's paper." Hillshire held a thick sheaf of tiny newsprint out to her, and she took it, expecting to see grim mug shots of them plastered across the front page. To her surprise, a quick scan of the newspaper turned nothing up. "There was only a slim chance they'd disseminate any information to the public, and it doesn't appear they're going to. Section 2 will go to any lengths to keep this under wraps."

"Good. What about local or area police?"

"I doubt they'll be notified, but it's best to steer clear of them regardless. The Chief won't want laymen getting tangled up with us."

"Then we're safe for a few days?"

"Not necessarily. No one's going to sit around on their hands waiting for us to turn back up. They're going to deal with this their way."

Triela leaned back against her pillows. "You don't think they'll send another _fratello_ after us?"

"It's the only thing they can do. The other _fratellos_ know our faces, and they have the best chance of bringing us in." With a sigh, Hillshire propped his elbows on the table. "Once they pick up our trail, it won't be long before we start seeing familiar faces."

Realizing the sick irony of those words, Triela felt her stomach give a twist. _Familiar faces_. Henrietta's pleasant voice was now a reason to pull her jacket collar up and scan the street for danger; Rico's innocent smile would mean her life was in jeopardy. It was inconceivable. She pulled her knees up to her chest. "Hillshire... If another team comes after us, what do you think their orders will be?"

"That's more difficult to say. I'm sure," he said with a bitter scoff, "they will have already marked _me_ for termination, but you're still...useful to them." His voice dropped the last few words flatly, as though he found them disgusting even to be saying. "You can be reconditioned. From what I understand, there have been some advances made in that field, thanks to Claes' circumstances. I'd imagine they'll try to incapacitate you and then attach you to a new handler." Chair legs scraped against the floor and the flimsy furniture's joints creaked their protest as Hillshire rose. Triela interested herself in the hideous paisley pattern of her sheets, rather than acknowledging her handler's sudden presence at her side. "Don't worry, I won't let that happen," he said softly.

The girl lifted her chin high enough to give him a grim smile. "It doesn't matter. I'd die first."

Pain constricted Hillshire's broad features. He put a hand out on her knee, gripped it tightly. "Don't say that. Don't you _ever_ say that. Such promises are pointless; it isn't going to come to that situation in the first place. Right now, we need to prepare to disappear. All we need to be focusing on is gathering supplies and changing our appearance. We'll move up to Bolsena this afternoon."

Orders were something Triela could understand frontward and backward. She dislodged Hillshire's hand and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "So, what supplies are we gathering?"

"I'll need to clean out my bank accounts before they freeze my assets. That is my first priority. As for you, I'll draft up a list of things we need. There's a shopping complex a few blocks down where you should be able to pick up most of them. We'll run our errands simultaneously but separately."

"Understood, sir."

"And no more 'sir'. You can call me Hillshire in private, but not sir - ever. It isn't just a matter of discretion. Got it?"

"Yeah." Triela rolled her eyes. "_Hillshire_."

"Why don't you take a quick shower, change your clothes? I'll have that list when you're done."

Triela wondered silently when Hillshire did any of those things for himself, between convincing her to look after her own well-being and everything else he was constantly busy with, but she took shampoo and a razor from her overnight bag without arguing. As she was heading into the room's tiny, mildew-smelling bathroom, Hillshire caught her elbow.

"We're partners in this, now. There is no other option."

"I get it," Triela rolled her eyes, but she felt a little tug at her heart. _Partners?_ As independent as she had always been, she was still a subordinate. She wasn't sure what to make of this; it would certainly be easier to just follow orders, but she liked the implication of trust the new status carried. She turned away with her lips turned decidedly upward. "Write your stupid list already."

.x.x.x.

The water pressure in the shower was weak, but the water itself was warm and not flecked with iron, as she had supposed this hotel's would be. Triela washed briskly, wanting to luxuriate but knowing the sooner she finished, the better. When she finished, she changed into the only pair of jeans she had packed, and a sweater. She came out of the bathroom toweling her hair. Hillshire met her with the promised list.

She skimmed over it. _Bandages, ammunition_ - at a convenience store? - _two changes of civilian clothes_ -

"Clothes?"

"Suits are conspicuous. I don't believe I'm wrong in assuming that aside from your present outfit, all you packed is suits?"

"...Yeah." Her cheeks burned. The suits had seemed very practical when she was packing, but now she felt like a fool. She wished, again, that he had told her what was going on before they left. "...Scissors, and hair dye," she read the final items on the list. "That's a short list."

"We will both meet back here in twenty minutes. At this point, there's no purpose to buying more than the basics."

"I'll say that again," whistled Triela.

"If you get back before me, bolt the door and don't let anyone in. I'll call the room to let you know I'm coming up."

"Right."

"Be careful." Hillshire crossed the room and pulled a handgun from his suitcase. "I packed your rifle, but it's best if you carry this on you at all times."

Triela shrugged on a jacket and tucked the gun into the inside pocket. Its weight felt foreign; she hadn't carried a handgun in a while. She straightened the coat self-consciously. She felt exposed, without the weight of her gun in her hand or in its case on her back.

"Twenty minutes," Hillshire reminded her, and left the room. Triela followed a few minutes later, locking the door behind her and heading the opposite direction down the hallway.

.x.x.x.

The bullets were fairly easy to find. The town, being rustic, had a simple game and fish supply store. It wasn't part of the shopping complex Hillshire had mentioned, but it was on the way. Purchase under her arm and seven minutes into her allotted time, Triela continued on down the block.

She went first into a convenience store for the bandages and hair dye, as well as a pair of small cosmetic scissors. After a few moments' deliberation, she settled on a pack of brownish black dye. It said semi-permanent, which was fine with her. She hoped once they were out of the country there wouldn't be any need for dyed hair. Five minutes later, she emerged from the convenience store with a second bag under her arm. Across the way was a beauty salon, a small café, and a boutique called Renee's. Triela headed toward the boutique, checking her watch and deciding to buy the first things she saw.

She ended up with a skirt, another pair of jeans, and five shirts. At the register, she handled herself gingerly, wondering if the cashier, whose eyes seemed to be watching her fairly closely, had noticed the bulge under her jacket. She gave him a polite but distracted smile, and left the store at a brisk pace.

Her pocketbook, which had contained 200 Euros at the outset of her excursion, was now significantly lighter. She hoped Hillshire didn't mind; the time constriction had forced her to simply choose the first passable items in her size and buy them without the luxury of checking pricetags or trying anything on. I_t's not like it matters if it fits well,_ she told herself glumly, _as long as it fits. If it's just me and Hillshire on the road from now on, it doesn't really matter how I dress. I could go around in a paper bag with all my hair shaved off and that man wouldn't notice._ The thought was more amusing than it was depressing, though, and Triela found herself laughing despite everything as she headed back to the hotel.

She passed a young couple at the entrance, who gave her an odd look as she passed, still chuckling, and she remembered belatedly what Hillshire had said about going unnoticed. Still, those two seemed fairly harmless. She gave them an apologetic smile as she went by, adjusting her baggage.

Hillshire was already back in the room, as Triela discovered when the door opened before she could even knock on it and announce herself. "Get in, quickly," Hillshire muttered, pulling her none too gently inside.

"What are you so cranky for?" Triela scowled, her good humor ruined. "I'm back on time, aren't I?"

"It doesn't matter now. We're leaving immediately."

"What - why?"

"The 'why' does not matter, Triela. I said we are leaving, so we are leaving. Don't argue."

She gave a him an icy look that might have made a lesser man quail. Hillshire heaved a sigh, of exhaustion or exasperation.

"I saw the man at the desk talking with a policeman outside on my way back. I avoided them by coming in the side entrance."

"So they did bring the local police in on it, after all."

"It could be a coincidence, but that's not a chance I want to take."

Triela nodded. She stuffed the bag of clothing into her suitcase hurriedly, and the ammunition and items from the convenience store she handed to Hillshire.

"It's all here?" he asked.

"Yeah. I got rounds for the handgun and my Winchester. I assume that's what's in your suitcase? You hardly ever use the big one."

"That's right." Hillshire finished stuffing several wads of 500 Euro notes into the pockets lining his suitcase and turned to her with something akin to pride on his face. "You're very observant. Between the two of us, we'll be over the border and safely in France within a day or two. We could get there by tonight, but I don't want to risk staying on the same train too long."

"What's our next destination?"

"We'll take the 2:15 train to Bolsena." Hillshire frowned. "Didn't I tell you that this morning?"

"No," Triela snapped. "You didn't. You haven't told me much of anything. Besides, I've kind of got a lot on my mind right now, you know?"

"I know." Hillshire clapped a hand on her shoulder. "You're doing beautifully." He coughed. "It wasn't right of me to spring this on you, and I'm sorry for that. But I couldn't tell you at the Agency, where someone might have overheard."

"You weren't afraid I'd maybe say I didn't want to go?"

Stung, Hillshire drew his hand back. "No. That has nothing to do with it."

"Right. So are we getting on this train, or what? It's 1:40 already."

"Yeah. Let's go."

Without another word between them, they gathered up their minimal baggage and headed down the east staircase. There was a side exit that led to an alleyway, obscured from the main road by bushes or low buildings. Hillshire turned to Triela.

"Follow me. When we get to the station, don't speak to anyone. For the duration of the trip, you're my daughter Janine, and we're headed home to Germany. Speak only in German. Pretend you don't understand when you're spoken to, and let me translate for you. Understood?"

"_Jawohl_," replied Triela sardonically.

_No, it wouldn't matter to him whether I wore a paper bag or a ball gown, _she thought bitterly, _as long as he got to approve it first. _The image wasn't amusing anymore.


End file.
